The Risk Always Lives
by Punkylemon
Summary: Aliens have found their way to Earth and Ellen Ripley and the marines must return to Earth to fight the biggest and most menacing infestation yet. Written as though they survived 'Aliens'. I do not own 'Aliens'. Rated M for occasional strong language.
1. Chapter 1

'The Risk Always Lives'

(_El Riesgo Siempre Vive_)

Chapter 1

Private Vasquez lay on her back in that curious state when you're mind is awake and functioning but your body is insisting on another five minutes and refusing to move. She lay on an odd white surface and, for a minute or two, couldn't register what it was. After a moment… plastic. What the hell? Plastic! Ah! Now she understood. It was all coming back to her now. Her body grudgingly agreed to move and she sat up, squinting her eyes against the glaring strip lights that grinned down from a cold, metallic ceiling. Feeling a slight tug at two points on her chest, she peered blearily downwards and noticed the small, plastic suckers attached to her dark skin trailing wires which led to a computer, showing all her vital signs as normal. Enough of that! Grumpily she tugged them off herself and brought her arm sleepily upwards to grind the heel of her hand into her eye, forcing herself into the waking world. She threw a puffy-eyed glance over to her right.

She was in the sleeping quarters of a marine space ship, The Sulaco, a huge, military spaceship that was deliberately shaped like a pulse rifle. What she was currently sitting in (feeling as though she had the worst hangover in history) was a hyper-sleep chamber. It was a small, white capsule that was big enough for one person only. The soft mattress would be comfortable were it not for its thin plastic covering which crinkled every time Vasquez shifted where she sat. Vasquez's chamber was one of many (20 or so) that ran the length of the back wall of the sleeping quarters. Out of each one was emerging one of her fellow recruits (less like butterflies. More like dragonflies, maybe.) yawning, stretching and scratching various places. Except the last one. The chamber in the corner. This one was occupied by a certain Ellen Ripley.

Ripley lay, staring blankly up at the raised lid of the hyper-sleep chamber trying to remember why it was she was back here on the Sulaco with these gun-wielding wackos. Only her eyes moved as they narrowed slightly with the effort of remembering. Sulaco, hyper-sleep, aliens. Ah! Aliens. That was why. There'd been a distress call from all the way back on Earth, crying out that there had been human fatalities caused by foul creatures never before seen or even imagined. It was said they looked roughly humanoid with the tails of crocodiles and heads shaped like cast iron penises. They'd taken hold in 3 different states and wiped out entire cities in the process. New York had sent out a plea for help which had managed, somehow, to find its way back to her. Ripley. Why God? Just fucking why! Hadn't she faced these ugly bastards enough times already not to have to come face to ugly fucking face with them for what felt like the thousandth time? But, heck, what can you do? If you have skills that are in demand that will help people and you're the sort of person who is not about to let her fellow humans suffer if you can help it, hell! Why not? She'd long since stopped caring anyway. Still, that didn't stop her grinding her teeth at the crude jokes already breaking out around her, courtesy of the male privates who'd woken up enough to start gabbing.

No sooner was private Hudson awake than he was shooting his mouth off… again!

"Hey, serge," he was saying as Sergeant Apone walked past, "How 'bout a little breakfast over here! Any bacon? How 'bout pancakes? Waffles? You know it's the most important meal of the day, right?"

Apone sighed. He'd known Hudson long enough to know how to deal with him by now. He turned to face him with a big grin on his war-hardened face.

"Sure." He said, his deep voice virtually dripping honey. He swiped a hand over a gleaming white surface, too quick for Hudson to see what he'd grabbed. "How bout a nice tasty bowl of lead?" He asked, his grin unwavering. He raised his hand level with Hudson's head. Handgun. "Served ice cold, of course." Apone finished.

"Er…" Hudson said, cross-eyed as he looked down the short barrel of the handgun, his good mood faltering. Maybe annoying the sergeant this early after hyper-sleep wasn't such a good idea after all. "How 'bout you save that breakfast for yourself, Sir? I 'aint that hungry no more." He said graciously. Despite having been on the receiving end of Apone's annoyance many times, Hudson always felt refreshed after a frank exchange of views with the sergeant. He swung his legs over the side of his hyper-sleep chamber, wincing at the sudden cold of the metal floor. He'd have complained but Apone had disappeared down the ship.

Next to Hudson, private Drake was having considerable trouble waking up. If there were a snooze option on these bloody chambers he'd choose it but when the sergeant tells you to get up, you get up. Full stop. Final. End of.

He wrenched his eyes open a fraction, glaring with utter hatred at the ceiling through blonde eyelashes and half a ton of congealed eye dust. With a groan worthy of any constipated hippo, he forced all his strength into sitting upright. His back complained loudly, having been dormant for the past three months and he, like the others around him, pulled the wires off himself. He yawned and stretched, causing more joints to crack, and pulled himself lazily out of his chamber.

Feeling considerably peppier, Vasquez sloped into the locker room, aiming a sharp slap at Drake's ass as she went. Her bare feet scuffed the floor as she walked. Once in the locker room she faced her locker, braced herself, got a firm grip on the handle and tugged with all her strength. After three tries and with the jarring scrape of metal on metal, the locker door gave way and swung open. Why did she have to get the bloody awkward locker that refused to open unless you bust a gut trying!

Not caring who saw, she peeled off her khaki tank top and threw it over her shoulder. It landed on the floor behind her in a crumpled heap and she didn't care to move it to its rightful place in the laundry basket. That was the good thing about having Bishop on board. Bishop was the android. Whilst, at the same time, having incredible intellectual capacities, he also had a kind, caring disposition and did all he could to help out the humans he travelled with (which often meant that he spent his free time clearing up after the grunts when he had nothing better to do).

"Give Bishop a break, Vasquez!" said a voice behind her. She turned in time to see Lieutenant Gorman swipe her top off the floor and toss it expertly into the laundry basket (although, "laundry_ cylinder"_ was probably a more appropriate term for it). "He saved our asses on LV4-26. The least you can do is clear up after yourself." Gorman scuffled his way to the shower room, running a hand over the stubble that covered his head.

Vasquez rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Yeah, he was Lieutenant but Gorman wasn't what you'd call "commanding". He whined rather than ordered so no-one really took much notice of him. Vasquez retrieved an identical tank top from the back of the locker and pulled it over her head. As her head emerged from the neck hole, Hudson's ugly mug popped into view, unshaven, puffy eyed and with hair that look like a twenty year old bog brush that no-one's ever bothered to rinse after usage.

"Hey Vas," Hudson started in his usual, cocky, Texan drawl "How'd ya like a contest?" He crossed his arms smugly and leant against a wall. Oh please! Vasquez was never that interested in what Hudson had to say and she still had her headache that was pounding against the inside of her skull like a captive tornado. Although, having said that, she was incredibly competitive. After a moment…

"Name it, _stupido_." She challenged.

"Pull-ups." Hudson said, simply. "Whoever does most wins." He raised an eyebrow and smirked, showing yellowing teeth and almost knocking Vasquez flat with a wave morning breath.

Vasquez snorted. She could beat this cocky little shit at pull-ups any day of the fucking week. She was more of a man than _he_ was. And where, exactly, were Hudson's arm muscles supposed to be? As far as she could see, he didn't have any.

"Deal, asshole." She said and gave him an almighty slap on the shoulder. Hudson's knees gave way slightly but, otherwise, he tried not to react.

Vasquez gripped the pull-up pole and waited for Hudson to finish rubbing his shoulder. She grinned. That would hurt more later. Just as Hudson stood by her side, ready to begin their contest, Drake stepped up.

"You kids mind if I play?" He asked. He grinned at Vasquez who returned it. They both had such an evil glint in their eyes that Hudson suddenly felt he should have thought twice about this. Still, if he could beat Drake as well it would certainly be something to show off about to the other privates.

"Hey. Sure man." He said to Drake, trying to sound casual. He shifted over to the side to allow room for Drake (who elbowed him sharply in the ribs anyway). Drake cricked his neck loudly and together, the three of them started their contest.

Half a minute later (and regretting even starting this stupid contest) Hudson was on his fifteenth pull-up and beads of sweat had formed on his brow and on his top lip. Sixteen… c'mon!... Seventeen… gotta beat Vasquez!... Eighteen… He could taste the salty sweat as he licked his lips… Nineteen… Ah to hell with it! Hudson collapsed in a little pool on the floor and, after a moment of revival, pushed himself round on his ass so he could watch the conclusion of the contest that was still evidently raging between Vasquez and Drake. By now, a small crowd had formed. Some cheering Vasquez and some cheering Drake. Others were placing bets.

Both faces were pictures of determination as the battle raged on. Drake's arm muscles were roaring with pain but he wasn't about to lose to a woman. Vasquez's own face was running with sweat but she gritted her teeth and carried on.

With every pull-up his comrades did, Hudson felt that little bit smaller. They'd gone two and a half minutes straight now and showed no signs of giving up.

It was a testament to how insanely competitive both Vasquez and Drake were that they were now only carrying on out of the sheer will to beat each other. Drake was red in the face at this point and starting to groan under his breath. Vasquez, however, even though she was now drenched with sweat (and most likely going to have to change her top again), carried doggedly on, breathing heavily but with a steady rythm.

Private Spunkmire sidled up to Hudson, who was still viewing this from floor level.

"Who you betting on?" He asked. Crap! That was the last thing Hudson's ego needed. He crossed his arms round his legs grumpily and didn't answer. Spunkmire shrugged. "Drake's tough for sure but that Vasquez, man! She's one gutsy bitch. My guess is it wasn't smooth talkin' that got her into the marines. My bet's on her." No shit! Vasquez had proved to be one hell of a fighter, despite her small frame. She'd put the sergeant in mind of a pit bull and been hired on the spot. Not that she _couldn't_ stand up for herself verbally. One of her sharp comments, punctuated with her native Spanish, could cut one of the other marines down in a second flat.

By now, Drake was coming to terms with the fact that he would have to admit defeat. He could almost hear every muscle in his upper body screaming at him. It was true. He was tough but he was no match for the diminutive Spaniard still going all-out beside him with no sign of letting up. With a small smirk he released the pole and dropped to the ground with a thud. Despite the fact he was red in the face with a vein standing out visibly near his temple he managed to stay standing upright to reserve his dignity. He saluted as the other privates jeered.

Determined to prove a point, Vasquez carried on, doing five more final pull-ups before joining Drake on the floor. Breathing heavily and very sweaty, she crossed her arms and jutted her jaw at Drake in triumph, fixing him with a dark-eyed stare. A cheer went up from the other privates (accompanied by the odd grumble from those who had lost bets and who were now being forced to pay up by their fellow recruits and a grunt of contempt from Hudson). Vasquez received many slaps on the back and handshakes for her victory.

You had to give it to her. Vasquez was a hard nut and a bit of a bitch but it's what made her such a good soldier. Save for the quiet bit of respect she had for Drake she had a heart made of stone. That's how she liked to appear, anyway.

Vasquez sauntered past, catching a swift high five from Dietrich, the only other female marine in the corps. Vasquez turned and hissed at Hudson as she passed,

"_Perdedor_." Hudson had known Vasquez long enough and lost to her enough times to know what that meant: "Loser".

Hudson was now in a fowl mood. It didn't take much to tip him over the edge when winning or losing was involved. He tore off his own sweat-soaked top and lobbed it at the open door of his own locker, missing by several feet. This didn't improve things and he kicked the crumpled pile of material across the locker room so that it scooted across the floor and came to rest, twisted round Corporal Hicks's ankle. Without a second's hesitation, Hicks picked up the shirt and chucked it back to Hudson. It landed on the furious soldier's head, adding insult to injury.

"Cool it Private!" Hicks snapped.

Hudson made obscene gestures at the Corporal's back as he entered the showers, finding a cheap triumph (despite the fact that Hicks was oblivious) and grinning like an idiot. So busy was he with exercising certain fingers that he didn't notice another person walk up behind him.

"Wow. That is really mature, Hudson." Hudson spun round and found himself face to face with Ellen Ripley.

"Shit! What's wrong with you? What you have to go creepin' up on me for? " He exploded. Ripley's expression barely changed as she stared calmly into Hudson's furious, scruffy face.

"I'm not the one acting like a fucking child." She said quietly. "Get your shit together, Hudson. There's a good chance you or I or both will be dead by this evening so don't give me any of your bullshit. We have a serious job to do here." Hudson sat down on a bench, his explosive mood subsiding.

"Vasquez beat me again, man! A goddamn girl!" He grumbled, talking to his knees, not having taken in a word that Ripley had said. Ripley put her hands on her hips, unable to believe what Hudson had just said.

"You just don't get it do you? This isn't like before. This isn't a couple of cockroaches in a warehouse. This is alien infestation on a massive scale. Three states have been overrun, Hudson. Three! With that wide a range, it's possible there's more than one queen this time. And these bastards work fast. By the time we get there another two states might have gone down and if they manage to spread across seas there's no telling where they'll end up. If we don't somehow beat them at their own game we could be looking at human extinction." This seemed to wake Hudson up a bit. He had family back in Austin, Texas. If the aliens reached there they could all be cocooned, impregnated and killed by those slimy fuckers. His brother was going to be twenty one in a few months. Hudson had promised to be back by then. He suddenly seemed to become twelve years old again.

"Sorry, Ripley." He mumbled, still talking in the general direction of the floor.

"Just get your head out of your ass and look at the bigger picture, Hudson." Ripley replied as she pulled a fresh top over her head. "We need as many _able minded_ soldiers as we can get." She left Hudson alone in the locker room with that stinging emphasis and walked to the mess hall.

The mess hall was a long room that was all clinically white plastic and scrubbed steel (much like the rest of the ship really). The soldiers all sat, considerably more refreshed at a long table. Swearing, laughing and coarse slang filled the air as Ripley, having collected her breakfast, sat down at an end table between Lieutenant Gorman and the android Bishop.

Vasquez had taken her place at the table next to Drake and the sergeant. She picked up the lump of tough crap that occupied the middle of her plate and, wrinkling her nose, dropped it back. It actually made a clanging sound as it hit the flimsy disk of steel. Deciding she'd leave that for now she picked up her steel mug and took a hearty swig of the contents. She coughed in disgust.

"How's the cuisine?" Apone asked with a grin. As always he had a fat cigar sticking out one side of his mouth which filled the air with a pungent, grey haze.

"The coffee tastes like shit, man." Vasquez replied in her usual, blunt manner. Apone chuckled and slugged his own coffee too fast to register any flavour it may have. Vasquez reached out and grabbed the rock (which, she would learn later, was supposed to be corn bread) from her plate and ripped off a hunk, having to bite down hard to retrieve the quantity she wanted. Apparently this… stuff didn't like to be broken apart.

"It makes it easier if you dip it in the coffee." Spunkmire said across the table to her. He demonstrated. The soggy bread looked easy enough to bite apart now but the taste of each breakfast item on its own was bad enough without mixing them. Vasquez wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah. Thanks, man." She replied, not convinced but being polite enough about it. Spunkmire wasn't too bad a guy. She chewed moodily as she looked around at the other grunts. Hudson came to sit opposite her and chose this moment to bait Sgt. Apone again.

"Hey serge," he was saying. "How come you're always smoking those? You compensating for somethin'?"

"Only on _your_ behalf, Hudson." Apone replied, smoothly.

"Nah, man. He'd need _real_ big, badass cigars to compensate for _that_." Drake joined in. The surrounding soldiers laughed. Hudson, trying, once again, to appear light hearted laughed loudly but stabbed the corn bread with his fork so violently that his plate flipped over. Evidently he was still bitter about the pull-up contest, despite Ripley's lecture. As the plate spun on the spot, the corn bread made a bid for freedom and bounced off the table and onto the floor. With a dive, Hudson vanished to retrieve his breakfast. When he reemerged, his escapee corn bread was covered in dust and grit. He wrinkled his nose.

"Er… anyone want mine?" He asked the table as a whole. The other marines all shook their heads. Having to force down their own was bad enough.

"C'mon, Hudson. Don't be like that." The sergeant said kindly, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Hudson smiled "Eat it." Apone added. Hudson's smile vanished "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, remember?"

"Er… right, serge. Yeah." Hudson said, uncertainly, looking at the grey lump in his hand. Brushing off the worst of the dust, he gingerly took a bite.

Vasquez reached upwards and pulled a roll-up out from a fold in her red bandana and lit it, enjoying watching the piss-taking of poor Hudson. He was just one of those guys that nobody really liked and nobody really hated. He was just fun to pick on.

On the end table, Ripley shook her head, tiredly. They'd never learn. Even after what had happened last time and they'd all almost died. They'd lost Private Frost on that awful day. And yet, even after bringing Hudson up to date with the gravity of the situation and reminding him of the horror they'd be facing, he was right back on form making cheap jokes, not being serious at all and taking the rest of the troupe with him. Ripley sighed and turned to Bishop.

"Either they've all suffered amnesia during hyper sleep or they think that, because we beat a handful of aliens once, we can do it again without breaking a sweat." She said, annoyed. "Are you sure we have to take them with us?" She added sarcastically, jerking her head back at the noisy marines. Dressed as he always was in his navy jumpsuit, Bishop passed the corn bread past Ripley to Gorman and replied,

"Trust me, I'd happily leave them here but we need everyone we can get. The military on Earth are already attempting to try and make them submit." Ripley knew that by "them" Bishop meant the aliens and ran a hand through her thick, brown hair with a slight snort.

"What are they gonna do? Shove a gun in their faces and yell "freeze"? Put them in cages and keep them as pets? That won't help them. They don't know what they're dealing with. The aliens won't submit. They're smarter than the humans and they know that and if the military aren't equipped enough to at least keep them at bay, the hundreds of fresh new hosts will only make them stronger." Bishop nodded solemnly.

"What I don't get is how they reached Earth in the first place." He said, frowning.

"There'll be a human behind it. There always is." Ripley replied. "Probably some government operation that's got out of hand. Remember Burke?" She added, remembering how Carter Burke had tried to impregnate herself and a little girl they'd rescued so he could smuggle aliens back with him.

Again, Bishop nodded. Oh yes. He remembered Burke. Deciding he'd stop this conversation for now he didn't reply. Instead he kept silent and waited for the humans to finish eating.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A few hours later, everyone was busy in the drop ship hanger, preparing for their grand entrance back on Earth. The hulking, steel power loaders (the heroes of Ripley's last encounter with an alien queen) whined mechanically as they clanked around, transferring heavy crates of ammunition to the ship, ready to be hauled on board. The strong smell of petrol and oil filled everyone's noses and the occasional spray of sparks could be seen, issuing from various places around the hulking machines as welding took place. Gorman was in charge of loading the APC ("Armored Personnel Carrier") onto the ship and was backing the bulky, armor plated vehicle very slowly backwards up the drop ship ramp. Hicks was walking behind it, signaling to Gorman as he went, to make sure the APC didn't damage any part of the ship's interior.

Bishop was overlooking proceedings and was about to warn someone, slightly too late, of an imminent catastrophe. He could see private Spunkmire, steering his enormous, black and yellow power loader, attempting to stack a box of ammo on a none-too-stable stack of another two and Vasquez (who was ticking a check list with her back to him) oblivious. The next block on the stack was added and, almost immediately, began to sway ominously. It tipped slowly and began its descent.

"Look out!" Bishop yelled. Unfortunately, at that point in time, he was at the other end of the hanger and Vasquez, her ears filled with the loud, echoing clanks and groans of the surrounding machines, didn't hear him. With a shake, the stack of crates gave way and toppled towards the distracted Vasquez. Bishop's breath caught as the whole lot fell to the ground with a heart stopping clatter and pulse rifles and flame throwers spun in all directions over the metal floor of the hanger. Spunkmire, his hand over his mouth, seemed immobilized by what had just happened. The hanger went silent except for the hum of the machines. Bishop, Ripley and half the other marines ran to find out Vasquez's fate. For a second there was nothing. Everyone exchanged worried glances, fearing the worst but after a few moments Vasquez's furious face popped up from about three or four feet behind the wreckage and yelled,

"Who in the hell did that!" She stared around furiously and caught sight of Private Spunkmire, still sitting, stunned, in his power loader. "Right!" She snarled threateningly, cracking her knuckles. Protected, though he was, by the metal bars of the power loader, Spunkmire went the colour of two-day-old porridge as Vasquez got to her feet with fire in her dark eyes. "You're dog meat, man!" She yelled. She leapt nimbly over the mess of split crates and escapee pulse rifles and flung herself straight at Spunkmire like a rabid stoat.

Cue next appearance from Corporal Hicks. He threw out an arm, catching Vasquez round the middle, swinging her round mid-flight, and bringing her crashing to the floor. Vasquez struggled but Hicks leant an arm on her throat, holding her still.

"Fuck you! Let me at him, man!" She choked. She grabbed the Corporal's forearm, trying to wrestle it off her. She kicked her legs wildly, trying to land a hit on Hicks but it was hopeless. He was as merciless as a police dog trainer with a particularly unruly rottweiler. All Vasquez could do was glare furiously up at him from the floor and hiss, "Bastard."

"We have a job here, Private!" Hicks spat. "We leave at 0900 so get the fuck back in line and get your job done! I don't want anymore shit from you!" He turned to shout over his shoulder "That goes for all of you assholes! Move it!" After a second or two (more to give Spunkmire the chance to get away than anything else) Hicks slowly removed his arm from Vasquez's throat and allowed her to get up. With a couple of gestures at the corporal's back, as Hudson had done, Vasquez furiously stomped back to her original spot and, retrieving her checklist from among the mess, continued working. A thought occurred to her. At least she and Hudson could agree on something; Hicks was an asshole.

Apone had watched this from a point over by the drop ship they'd be using and smirked, chewing the end of his cigar. All those alien bastards had to do was _look_ at Vasquez funny and she'd wipe them out single handed.

"Quite the hellcat 'aint she?" said a drawling, Texan voice from somewhere near Apone's right ear. The sergeant turned to see Private Hudson grinning at him. Why was it that, no matter where the sergeant was, Hudson was always close by to ruin his good mood?

"You get yo' ass back to work, Hudson or I'll be obligated to use the end of my badass army boot to get it there for ya."

Having prepared the drop ship for their little field trip, the marines were getting suited up back in the locker room. As always, Drake and Vasquez were to be the carriers of the smart guns. For six-foot two Drake it wasn't too much of a struggle to carry but the smart gun was about the same size as Vasquez who was considerably smaller. Despite this, she strapped it onto herself and practiced a few maneuvers anyway.

All of the marines had added their little marks, doodles, insignias and jokes to their armor and weaponry. Vasquez's breastplate bore the words "El riesgo siempre vive". When asked what it meant the reply had been "The risk always lives". It was a line from a Spanish poem and was Vasquez's way of reminding herself that there was always danger around, no matter how well you think you may have won. No words truer after their last dealings with the xenomorphs. They were like rats. No matter how many you kill there's always more hidden away, waiting.

Vasquez's gun bore the word "_Adios_" and Drake's displayed "My bitch" in white paint. Vasquez looked down at this and grinned. Seeing this, Drake laughed and licked the side of the gun, rolling his eyes in mock ecstasy. Vasquez started to laugh so he built it up, ending with actually dry humping the gun, slapping the barrel, Vasquez killing herself with laughter.

"Wanna lose your dick?" Hudson asked, sarcastically as he walked past.

"Wanna lose your face?" Drake replied, without missing a beat and aiming "his bitch" in Hudson's direction. Hudson just snorted.

"Yeah right, man. Just try it. See how far that gets ya." He said and walked on by to get to his own locker. Drake was quite a badass, sure, but even _he _didn't have the balls to shoot a fellow marine, however much he may want to (at least not with the sergeant two lockers away).

"What an asshole." Hudson muttered to himself. He opened his locker and was greeted by an open pair of female legs, bare breasts and a face with blonde hair and full, red lips, mid-gasp. Damn! His poster had fallen down. He picked it up and stuck it back in its original spot on the inside of his locker door (along with two or three smaller pictures of a similar nature). After making sure that his poster was firmly in its proper place, Hudson began to armor up.

In the next aisle of lockers across from Hudson, Hicks was getting himself equipped when Ripley walked up to him. He smiled as she approached. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her since before they'd gone into hyper sleep. Sure, three months only felt like a matter of hours in hyper sleep but, still, she was a welcome sight after a morning of keeping the grunts in line. Especially the brief scrap he'd had with Vasquez.

Ripley leant against the lockers and did her best to return Hick's smile but it was obviously strained. Hicks frowned and pushed his locker door shut.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Hick's asked, after Ripley's failed attempt at smiling. Ripley said just two words and Hicks understood.

"Our daughter." Hick's looked solemn and nodded, without saying a word. He knew who Ripley was referring to; a ten-year old girl by the name of Rebecca Jorden (A.K.A. Newt) whom they'd rescued last time round. She wasn't technically related to either of them but, after the death of her parents and her brother, Newt had no-one left and Ripley and Hicks had taken her under their wings as their daughter. This had been short lived, however, because when the opportunity arrived, Newt had been sent back to Earth and fostered. Newt still kept in touch with Ripley and Hicks and, despite the fact they'd both stayed behind in the corps and only got to see her about once a year, she still viewed them as her parents. It was this fact alone that had kept Ripley fighting for so long. Newt would be about fourteen now.

The aweful realization that she was there, on Earth, once again surrounded by the xenomorphs hit them both. What made it worse was that the state she lived in was New York; the very state that had sent out the SOS distress call. Of course, that could just mean that they'd been informed of the xenomorph infestation from another state and taken it upon themselves to send out the cry for help but, on the flipside, it could mean that New York itself was overrun. Hicks and Ripley stood in worried silence for a moment. Hicks was the first to speak.

"She'll be alright. She survived on LV4-26 alone with no weapons at the age of ten. Trust me. She'll be alright." He said with a reassuring certainty in his voice. Typical Hicks, always the professional, no matter what the situation. Ripley's insides felt like the contents of one of the xenomorph eggs when she thought about the danger that her adopted daughter was in. She swallowed her panic and, silently, nodded. "We'll find her." Hicks continued. "As soon as we get to Earth, we'll find her." Ripley had noticed that Hicks kept repeating himself. He only did that when he was scared and trying not to let it show. He wasn't just trying to convince _her_. He was also trying to convince himself.

The marines were all lined up in the drop ship hanger beside the APC while Ripley, Gorman and Apone discussed their plan of action and Bishop ran a few final checks on the ship before they set off. Save for Hudson, who was chewing gum, every marine was stock still where he or she stood.

Drake was getting bored of all this standing around. He either wanted to get into that goddamn ship and get started with the ass-kicking or he wanted to be told that this whole, insane, wacked out escapade was cancelled and he could go back to sleep. What he didn't want was to stand here looking like a complete idiot, kicking his heels, waiting for the more important people to decide they wanted to move their asses. He held back the temptation to sigh in frustration and, instead, became very interested in the ceiling as he threw his blonde head back, the chicken bones on his helmet swinging backwards and catching on his right ear.

"Why can't we just get started on this little bug stompin' mission, right?" Hudson said, suddenly, as though reading Drake's thoughts. "I bet they're deciding who to send in first as bait, right, Vas?" He continued, loudly, grinning round his chewing gum (which, incidentally, was not doing much for his breath). Hicks glanced round to glare at him. Seeing this, Vasquez elbowed Hudson sharply in the ribs to shut him up but it was too late.

"Unless you want that first person bait-ball to be you, Hudson, I suggest you shut your ass." Apone said, having heard him.

Hudson (who was rubbing his ribs for the second time that day) shut up, remembering how close he'd come to death by one of these spikey, toothy, penis-headed bastards last time. They'd been fighting off a group of them in a medical unit on LV4-26 and one had come up through the floor, grabbing him by the leg and dragging him downwards. He bore the scars to this day, two deep gouges that would never properly heal. Hicks had come to the rescue, shooting the fucker through the head. Hudson had to grudgingly admit that Hicks had saved his life that day but that didn't stop the corporal from irritating the shit out of him. If anything, he'd become even more unbearable since that event, all puffed up because he'd rescued a fellow recruit. Hudson curled his fingers into the collar of his armor and let his arms hang as he continued his habitual gum-chewing, looking, for all the world, like a brooding teenager.

Eventually, the sergeant turned and snarled at the assembled marines, chewing the end of his cigar.

"Alright, you badass sons of bitches, move it! Each in their place! Let's go, people!"

**Author's notes:** **A relatively short chapter in comparison to the last one. Hopefully you enjoyed it and I'll try to make the next one longer. There may be a little bit of a wait because I'm going to Prague for a week but I'll be working like a demon as soon as I get back. **

**P.S. Sorry, guys. I messed up. In chapter 1 I'd written that Dietrich was the only other female marine**** in the corps but I'd forgotten Ferro who is set to appear in Chapter 3. Many apologies.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The marines all sat inside the APC as they had done so long ago on the same mission. The walls were hidden behind the rows of various weapons strapped to them and the ceiling was the same. Drake and Vasquez had their smart guns close to where they sat and crates of ammunition took up what little space was left. If someone were to completely gut the APC, removing all personnel and weaponry, the inside of the vehicle was a pretty decent size.

All of the marines plus Ripley sat tight as they heard the air lock door groan open once again and the roar of space filled their ears. Hudson opened his big mouth.

"We're on…" He began, but Dietrich cut him off.

"… an express elevator to hell. Yes, Hudson. We know." She said, exasperatedly.

"We gonna get some, today, people! You know it! Yeah!" He continued, undeterred. With a slight sob, Dietrich dropped her head into one hand and rested it there. This guy was unbearable when he got fired up. And it was always the same story; he'd start off all cocky and full of himself and then, at the first sniff of danger, turn into a snivelling, hysterical wreck, running away with his tail between his legs.

Ripley rolled her eyes, grabbed the bars that held her in her seat and braced herself. It was ironic, really, that the bars somewhat resembled those they used on rollercoasters. Over the last few years she had done quite a few drops and she still hated them. It was one part of the job she could never get used to. She could hear Bishop counting down over the intercom and gritted her teeth.

# "Three. Two. One…" #

With a jolt that made Ripley feel as though she'd left her stomach in the hanger, the drop ship plummeted downwards away from the Sulaco at a gut wrenching speed. Hudson's familiar whoops could be heard over the deafening roar of the engines and Ripley closed her eyes, taking a gulp of air to calm herself. Hicks reached across and squeezed her hand to reassure her. Ripley opened her eyes a fraction and gave Hicks a determined half-smile (although, a sweat had broken on her forehead and she'd gone pale). The whole craft shook and rattled violently until Ripley was sure it was going to bust a rivet.

Once they were through the Earth's atmosphere, the drop ship levelled out. Ferro was, once again, piloting the drop ship and now she looked through the wind shield with a look of anticipation which quickly changed to complete disbelief. She put a hand up and slowly removed her mirrored shades. As they flew over the city Ferro's heart dropped. The city was deserted. There was not a single person in the streets, shop fronts were smashed, bins were overturned and the odd fire burned, filling the sky with smoke. She was so busy looking at the destruction that she hadn't noticed someone calling her over the intercom.

# "Ferro? Ferro, do you copy?" # Came Sergeant Apone's voice. Ferro jumped and pressed a button on her headset.

"Copy." She replied, shakily.

# "How's it lookin' out there?" # Ferro paused.

"Bad." She said, simply.

# "In what way, bad? Details, marine!" # Barked Apone in her ear.

"It looks like we're too late to salvage anything here, sir." Ferro replied, gulping to stop her voice from shaking. "The place is just a shell. There's nothing."

In the APC, Ripley went white. Empty? So what had happened to Newt? Had she evacuated or… She shook her head. The thought was too terrible. Unable to restrain it she let out an anguished sob and put her hand across her mouth. So the signal _was _because the city was overrun after all but there was no-one left to help. They were too late. Why had they been so far away when they received the SOS?

Gorman turned to Apone.

"Do you think we should pull out? Move onto the next state and see if we can get ahead of the infestation?" He asked. Ripley's head snapped up.

"No." She said firmly. "We're staying. There's a chance there are survivors and we need to find out where the queen is. Destroy the heart of the swarm." Hicks watched her steadily as she said this.

"Ripley, there's nothing here. There's no point staying." Gorman said to her.

"_I'm_ staying." Ripley said, firmly. "My d… that girl we rescued lives here. Rebecca. I need to know that she's safe."

"We can't stay and waste time while the infestation moves across America for the sake of one girl who may or may not be here." Gorman said, sympathetic but firm. Ripley shook her head, stubbornly.

"What ever happened to being thorough?" She asked. "Whatever happened to making absolutely sure that there are no survivors that we can rescue? Isn't that our job here? To help people?" Gorman nodded.

"Yes, Ripley." He said quietly. "But this is bigger than anything we've experienced before. We're racing these things. We're trying to beat them to the next batch of human hosts. They've drained this place dry and we need to find out where they're headed next."

"We don't know where the queen is." Ripley countered. "It's the drones that move, not the queen. She's too big to be able to without sacrificing her egg sac. For all we know, she's taken up residence in the sewers. We need to kill her, or running around after the drones won't have any effect. We need to be sure." She fixed Gorman and the sergeant with a defiant stare.

Gorman and Apone exchanged looks. Gorman spoke into the intercom.

"Bring her down here, Ferro. We'll sweep the place anyway. See if we can't find something."

Ferro, forgetting in her shock that Gorman couldn't see her, nodded and began the descent onto what might once have been a parking lot. Apone looked squarely at Ripley.

"You better be right about this."

"Time?" Apone asked Gorman. Gorman consulted the monitor that he was sitting at.

"About 8:00pm." He said. It had been 9:00am in the morning ship-time on the Sulaco when they left.

Ripley looked over at him. Nearly night. Great! The time the aliens come out to play. If there were xenomorphs still around here the marines would soon be finding out.

Gorman shook his head to orientate himself then checked everyone's helmet cams. As always, Drake's was glitchy but it wasn't his that was puzzling Gorman right now. Hudson's screen was grey. The camera was definitely on because the screen displayed the words "Hudson W." at the bottom.

"Hudson!" Gorman called into the back of the APC. "Could you just look around a bit?"

"Hey, man, what am I lookin' at?" Hudson called back. "Just a load of badass guns, nukes and knives back here, man! Come see for yourself if you 'aint seen 'em already!" Gorman clenched his teeth.

"Just do it, Private!"

"Sure," Hudson said, grinning, and obediently swivelled his head around. The picture on Gorman's screen wobbled for a moment then went still. Having figured out what was wrong, Gorman called out,

"Turn your camera round, Private!" Hudson put a hand up to his helmet and found the camera, discovering it was on backwards and, consequently facing the wall behind him. He flipped it round so that it was looking forwards. Hicks slid into view on Hudson's screen and Gorman nodded, satisfied.

The APC was unloaded from the drop ship, rolled a few metres out onto the asphalt and stopped. All the marines were tooled up and waited just by the door for Apone to give the order. The door was opened and Apone barked,

"OK, sweethearts, move out!" Vasquez and Drake led the group out onto the street, both tense and alert. The silence seemed to whistle through the city. Everyone felt that if a dog had barked at the other end of America they would probably hear it, it was so quiet. Ripley stared around her with a mixture of awe and crushing sadness. She hadn't been to Earth in so long. She'd even forgotten what sunshine had looked like, spending her days under artificial lights or in darkness. There was a beauty to it that Earthly circumstances couldn't take away. She was wrenched back to reality by a voice.

"Where are we searching?" Vasquez asked, craning her head back so she could speak roughly in the direction of the sergeant and still keep her eyes forward.

"Yeah, right, man. This is a goddamn city." Hudson chimed in before Apone could answer. "Where the fuck do we look first?" Apone looked at Ripley.

"Ripley?" He said. Snapping fully out of her daze, Ripley looked up at him, wrong footed and, for a moment, said nothing. Eventually she started hesitantly,

"Well…" She looked around desperately and spotted a large building just a little way off. "We need somewhere to base ourselves. Why not there?" She nodded forwards.

"A hospital?" Hudson piped up.

"Well, do you have any better ideas, Hudson?" Ripley snapped. "Because do tell me if you have." Gorman poked his head out from inside the APC and shook his head.

"This is way bigger than we thought about." He said. "Even if, by some miracle, we do find the queen how are the group of us supposed to stop this?"

"I don't know." Ripley sighed and sat down heavily on what looked to be a mangled motorcycle. "But I have to find my daughter." She said, mostly to herself. Daring to take charge for a moment, Hicks straightened up.

"I think we should go to the hospital, try to make ourselves some kind of base and search the city outwards from there as far as we can. Look for anything that might give us some clues as to the whereabouts of that queen. What do you think serge?" He said, looking over at Apone.

"You wanna search the whole city?" The sergeant said. "'Cause if you do, you're goin' alone."

"No, serge, not the whole city. Just as far as we can and look for survivors. This is where the distress signal came from. We owe it to them to find and rescue anyone we can." He looked over at Ripley. "And see if we can't find Newt." He added quietly. Apone straightened up and readjusted his cigar. He nodded.

"Alright. Let's do it. Let's go, marines!"

Drake and Vasquez pushed the doors of the hospital open and walked slowly inside. They had their weight low, like lions stalking a zebra (although, that might have had something to do with the weight of the smart guns). The rest of the marines filed in behind them and fanned out, searching every room and ward they came across. After deciding the first level was clear, they moved up and searched the second floor.

The APC was parked outside, having been rolled a few yards up the road by Ferro, who had abandoned the drop ship where it was. Ripley sat with Gorman, watching everything on the monitors. So far there had been nothing to suggest any danger. Still, Ripley was taking no chances. Over the tinny speakers, Apone could be heard, muttering encouragements and instructions to his troop.

# "Eyes open, people. Stay alert. We don't wanna be caught out by these slimy mother fuckers again. Vasquez, you got anythin'?" # Apone's camera had swung round and Ripley and Gorman now had a view of Vasquez in the doorway to a ward, her back to the doorframe, gun raised.

# "Negative." # Her voice fuzzed.

# "Drake," # Apone continued. Drake now filled Apone's screen. # "Anythin' from your side?" #

# "Negative, serge." #

Ripley turned her headset on so she could talk to Apone.

"Remember to check air ducts, vents, piping under the floor, everything. They could get in anywhere." She said, marginally calmer and more professional than she had been earlier.

# "Aw, we 'aint gonna find shit here, man." # Came Hudson's voice, suddenly, loud and, somehow clearer than the others. Ripley jumped and held her heart.

# "Shut your ass, Hudson." # The sergeant hissed.

# "But look at this, man! We 'aint found nothin', there's nothin' on the tracker, this place is dead." #

# "You'll be the one who's dead if you don't shut up."# Drake warned.

Once the sweep was complete, Ripley, Gorman, Ferro and Bishop joined the marines inside.

"All clear?" Ripley asked, as a final confirmation. Apone nodded as a couple of the marines behind him removed their helmets and rubbed their heads.

"There's nothin' here, we've checked every possible way into the building and the scanner didn't show anythin'." He summed up.

Ripley looked around for a second and flicked a switch on the wall. The strip lights overhead flickered into life above them.

"At least this place still has power." She said. She sat down in a chair behind the desk where the secretary would have sat. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, trying to pull herself together. Gorman stepped up.

"Right," he said, "we need to bring in all weaponry, including ammo, link up the cameras to the monitors here so we don't have to keep going back to the APC, check, lock and barricade every entrance into the building as possible including air system and piping. And it might be worth checking the hospital records." He added.

**Author's Notes: Sorry this has taken so long, everyone. After the second chapter was uploaded I went to Prague for a week and when I got back I had quite a bit of work to catch up on. After completing said work I found out I had just 6 weeks before I finish college entirely so I've been busy sorting out university applications and such. I've also been working on my final project in class (I'm a media student, hence my lust for films ****) **

**I hope this chapter is worth the wait. I'll try not to take so long next time. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Daylight was fading fast and, with it, any feeling of security that Ripley had scraped together when they first entered the hospital. Equipment and ammunition was being unloaded from the APC. Apone and Gorman had decided between them that it might be an idea to leave some equipment in the APC in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Vasquez and Drake stood guard at the main door with smart guns at the ready, ever alert and twisted their heads to hear the slightest sounds. The main door was the only entrance to the building, now, that wasn't shut locked and barricaded, all the others having been shut off completely by Hicks and a select team of the marines (which, funnily enough, did not include Hudson). Not even a cockroach could find its way in undetected now.

Ripley herself stood looking at the sky over the city as it changed from greyish blue to orange and eventually to red. Only a few street lights seemed to be working, the circles of light dotting the street, looking ludicrously like the lights from flying saucers during alien invasions that you see in cheap science fiction movies. Ripley sighed shakily and glanced around, aware that they were quickly approaching night time. She couldn't help but remember Newt's words, all those years ago;

"It'll be dark soon and they mostly come at night… mostly." With a shiver, Ripley retreated back into the hospital and found Bishop in one of the operating theatres. He was staring intently at something on the table in front of him and was delicately dissecting it with various tools he'd found lying around. Ripley had to smile. Bishop had such innocence about him. An innocence she had once taken as deviousness when they'd first met. She leant against the door frame and watched him for a moment, thinking back over the years she'd known him.

"What have you found, Bishop?" She asked, after a time. Bishop glanced up in surprise, having not realised he was being watched. He set his instruments down.

"It's some kind of tracking device." He said, simply, picking up the little box about the size of a bar of soap and holding it out to Ripley so she could look. Ripley took it from him and turned it over in her hands. Despite the wires that Bishop had pulled out of it, the little boxy shape of it was familiar.

"It looks like the tracker we put on Newt." She said, sadly.

"But bigger." Bishop pointed out. "I found it kicked under an X-ray machine. Look at this," Bishop added, taking the tracking device back so that he could point out a series of tiny spikes on the inner edge.

"What're those?" Ripley asked, frowning as she lent in to get a closer look.

"I'm not sure." Bishop replied, honestly. "But they're connected to a tiny network of wires on the inside. The wires have been torn away at the edges so I don't know what they were connected to but what I do know is that this was attached to something larger."

"Like a wristband?" Ripley asked, still remembering Newt. Bishop shook his head.

"Bigger." Ripley frowned but her ponderings were interrupted by Dietrich who had appeared in the doorway.

"Ripley. That girl," She began. Ripley immediately gave her undivided attention. "Her name was Jorden, right? Rebecca Jorden?" Ripley nodded. "She was here." Dietrich said. Ripley followed Dietrich out into the main reception.

"What do you mean?" Ripley asked. "When? Why?"

"I checked records. She was in here just two weeks ago for a broken arm." Dietrich replied, scrolling the records on the computer monitor so that Ripley could see. Ripley threw a glance to Hicks, who was looking at her, and the same thought passed between them; God, I hope she got out OK.

Ripley jumped as Spunkmire suddenly dropped a flamethrower down onto the desk with a loud clunk.

"Sorry, Ripley." He said. Ripley nodded and turned back to the screen, staring at Newt's name as though she could somehow send some telepathic message of comfort to her by doing this. It wasn't long before Ripley's thoughts were interrupted again, this time, by Apone.

"That's everything, sweethearts. Lock her up." The marines all nodded and began shutting, locking and barricading the door as they had with so many others that evening. When they had finished, Apone nodded approvingly and adjusted his cigar so that he could speak.

"Alright. At ease, people." He said. The marines sighed and started removing their weapons and armour, Vasquez and Drake heaving off the heavy smart guns. The way they were all grunting and groaning, one would think they had been awake and working for days when, in reality, it had only been a matter of hours. Gorman was standing near to Apone and spoke in a hushed tone.

"We'll start searching at first light. See if we can't find some clues as to what happened here and whether there's anything we can do. We'll also look for survivors." Apone nodded.

Suddenly, and without warning, there was a blood chilling screech, familiar to everyone in the room. Everyone's heads snapped up to stare in horror at the door they had just blocked and the marines all raised their weapons. Hudson, who had been in the process of removing his rifle from himself at the time, raised it in alarm and consequently got it caught in a strap on his armour.

"What the fuck, man!" He yelled.

"My God, these bastards don't waste time." Hicks said, quietly. All the marines quickly rearmed themselves, all of them never taking their eyes from the metal hospital doors. The doors had seemed quite heavy and sturdy but now, the alien outside started throwing itself against it and, suddenly, it didn't seem as strong anymore. The metal wobbled and shook worryingly with the persisting onslaught of the creature outside.

"Just one?" Drake called out.

"How the fuck should we know, man!" Hudson yelped in panic. Drake rolled his eyes.

"The scanner, dumbass!" With a look of sudden realisation, Hudson started fumbling around in one of the many piles of various items of equipment that had been brought in from the APC, all the time, with his pulse rifle raised. Eventually he pulled the scanner from the mound and punched it into life. Immediately the machine started pulsing.

"Well?" shouted Vasquez, impatiently, in Hudson's direction.

"No. Not just one. There's three of 'em out there, man!" Hudson called out. Ripley frowned and turned to Bishop.

"Bishop, a hospital will have its own closed circuit TV system right?" She asked, oddly calm.

"Possibly." The droid replied, nodding.

"Let's see if we can get a view of them from there."

"Shit, man!" Hudson yelled. "Whatcha wanna see 'em for!"

"Something doesn't feel right, here." Ripley replied, quietly, listening to the continuing screeches of the aliens as they kept up their assault on the hospital door.

"Yeah right, man! We're under attack!" Hudson replied, his eyes wild.

"Bishop, do you know where the control room would be?" Ripley asked, ignoring Hudson completely as he continued shouting and cursing until Vasquez elbowed him again. Bishop nodded and led the way out of the hospital reception. Ripley followed, leaving the marines poised, ready to attack if the aliens got through. When they were out of earshot, Bishop asked,

"Why _do_ you want to see them?"

"It all seems a little too convenient, too organised." Ripley replied, her brow furrowed as they walked through the maze of clinically clean corridors, the smell of disinfectant still lingering around them.

"How do you mean?" Bishop asked, gesturing round a corner as he spoke, keeping Ripley moving in the right direction.

"It's as though they were waiting for us. There was no sign of them before we closed the doors and they appear seconds after it's locked and barricaded. Almost as though they were watching."

"But why attack a closed door?" Bishop asked, confused.

"I don't know. Get us all in one place?" Ripley ventured.

"We were already in one place." Bishop pointed out. Ripley pulled a face

"This attack just doesn't seem as chaotic as what we've experienced before."

Bishop led Ripley into the control room. Monitors covered the far wall and, with a flick of a switch, Ripley booted everything up. The monitors flickered into life on the wall and she sat down in an office chair, her dark eyes searching the monitors until she found it; the camera at the main entrance. Sure enough, there were three of the bastards at the door. Ripley frowned as she watched. They were taking turns at charging the door. Definitely more organised.

"What the hell are they doing?" Ripley asked with a look of complete bemusement on her face. "If they want to get through the door why don't they charge it together instead of taking turns." Bishop bent forward to look at the aliens as they raged on. A moment passed as he watched the aliens ramming the door like mutant bulls.

"Maybe…" the droid said slowly "… You remember that Private Drake thought there was just one out there?" Ripley nodded.

"Yeah. What's your point?" She asked, still nonplussed.

"It _sounds_ like there's only one out there." Bishop said. Realisation dawning on her face, Ripley replied,

"They were lulling us into a false sense of security." Bishop nodded, silently. "They're actually playing mind games with us." Despite herself, Ripley gave a disbelieving smile. As she did so, however, the three aliens suddenly reared back in unison. Forgetting their new theory for a moment and panicking in case the aliens were about to launch a joint attack, Ripley and Bishop stared, fixedly, at the screen. However, the creatures writhed and swayed their heads from side to side. Screeching once, they turned tail… and ran. Ripley couldn't think of anything to say. What had all that been about? Why had they given up? She ran a hand through her hair as she tried to puzzle it through but couldn't come up with any answers. Both she and Bishop watched the, now empty, screen for a moment or two but nothing else happened. All was still. Uncharacteristically, Bishop crossed his arms as he tried to figure it out. After what seemed like several minutes, Ripley said,

"We should get back to the others." Her voice, though quiet, seemed to echo around the room after the silence that had followed the alien attack. Bishop nodded and the two of them left the room.

Back in the reception, all was eerily quiet. All the marines were still poised with weapons raised like the plastic soldiers in a children's play set. Unsurprisingly, Hudson was the first to speak.

"Where the hell'd they go?" he said, in a hushed tone, his eyes flicking this way and that over the door in front of him as though he could see through it and were searching the city beyond.

"Check the scanner." Hicks called to him. Hudson quickly glanced down at the scanner that now inhabited the floor at his feet. It pulsed but nothing registered apart from his fellow marines. They were gone.

"Nah, it's dead out there, man." He called back. All of the marines slowly lowered their weapons and Vasquez and Drake threw a glance to each other.

"Shit, man." Vasquez exclaimed, quietly, heaving the heavy smart gun from her shoulders. Drake did the same and Vasquez gave him a hearty slap on the arm as the other marines all relaxed, disarming themselves for the second time in the space of five minutes. At that moment, Ripley entered with Bishop who immediately picked up his trusty clip board to jot down the series of events.

"Everyone alright?" Ripley asked.

"We're fine." Apone replied.

"Hey, speak for yourself, man!" Shouted Hudson, who was still pale. With a look of sheer frustration, Drake picked up a pulse rifle, turned it in his hands and punted Hudson away with the butt. Hudson fell and landed on the floor in a none too dignified manner, his limbs sprawling and his own rifle skidding away across the room. With a single shout of laughter, Vasquez high-fived Drake then set about removing her armour.

**Author's notes: This chapter is even shorter! Sorry. I just thought, seeing as I was taking so long in typing this fic lately, I should just upload it as soon as I got to a good break and this seemed to fit the bill. Hope this was worth the embarrassingly long wait. **

**Good news, though, I no longer have college work to worry about so I have more time to spend on writing fanfic. Woot! Chapter 5 is already in the pipeline. Stay with me, people!**


End file.
